Page 17 of Rogue Mission

My pitiful plea—didn't sound very convincing—doesn't stop him from arresting my flailing movement. This time by smooshing me against the wall.

No matter how hard he presses me flat, my body is wiggling all over the place like I'm being electrocuted by his hotness.

“Just stop,” he demands, the wind of his exhale igniting something strange inside of me. “Or I'll tie you up.”

SEVEN

That was a tactical error. Now I can't move. Definitely can't spin her around, or I'll be busted.

My cargo pants are imitating a circus tent.

Worse…the heat that's pooling in my lap is a bad sign. This problem isn't going down anytime soon.

“If you can be a good girl, I'll uncover your mouth.”

Good girl.

Fuck! Did I just good girl her?

“I’m not your good girl,” she mumbles between my fingers. “You going to throw me back in that make-shift cell.”

Wait. What the hell? Who does she think I am?

“I'm not putting you in any cell. I'm getting us out of this building.”

When I uncover her mouth, she glares at me over her shoulder in the glow of the Exit sign. “What if you're lying?”

“Argh,” I growl. This girl. “Give me five minutes and I'll prove myself.”

I point to the camera lens in the corner and as if I’ve waved a magic wand the overhead lights come back on.

Shit. Is that Beast’s work or something else?

“As good as our guys are at keeping the video cameras blocked, I don't want a chance of us showing up on some security feed.”

She goes stiff when I scoop her up and head around the corner. The woman weighs nothing even with all her lush curves.

I've rucked heavier gear.

Man what it would be like to…

No!

Thinking about her below me does not help the erection issue at all.

With gravel tumbling around my vocal cords, I cue up my mic to update the team. “JT here. Package one in custody. Over.”

“Copy,” Truck replies. “Guards secure. I'm going to search for package two.”

I carry Rosalie into the stairwell where I put her on her bare feet and back her into a corner.

She looks at my kit pointedly, glancing at my tactical vest, my thigh rig, my combat boots.

“Do you have an ID somewhere in all that gear?”

My brows go up until they bump the band of my backward baseball cap. “Do you always ask so many questions?”

“Kind of, yeah.” She scrunches her nose, cutely.